


Recipe for Disaster

by The_Winter_Straw



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Crude Humor, F/M, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Sexual Situations, Sexual dialogue, coarse language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 19:17:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18976756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Winter_Straw/pseuds/The_Winter_Straw
Summary: One part malevolent water god, two parts angry boyfriend, mixed with enough chlorinated water to fill a pool. Shaken, not stirred. Add one bored raccoon as garnish. Wah-lah! One thoroughly ruined vacation.





	Recipe for Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> I have a really bad habit of focusing more on the reader's relationship with other character's more than the love interests, and no better a place is this exhibited than this story. The plot (if it can be called that) changed about four times while I was writing it, but each draft had some bit of another canon character I liked, so I wound up tossing them all in. Does it work for a Guardians of the Galaxy fic? Probably. As a Peter Quill romance-centric fic? Probably not.
> 
> This fic trade response was written in summer of 2017 with the prompt "I just want 2 things: a peach bellini slush and for you to get the hell out of my face."

Peter Quill was not one to balk about having sex with his girlfriend. The two of you had done it in zero gravity, underground while the planet's crust above was being blown to smithereens, even in the _Milano_ while being shot at. Yes, you and Peter certainly had an interesting and varied sex life. You normally didn’t complain—until now, that was. After all the tantrums, all the exploding ships, all the guts ( _so many guts_ ), sometimes a girl needed some time off. Sometimes a girl needed to be pampered. Sometimes what a girl needed most on her vacation from destroying monsters with her bare hands and having sex in life or death situations was…a vacation. 

Wearing your swimsuit and sunglasses to breakfast had perhaps not been your brightest idea if you wanted people to _quit_ paying you attention. Gamora’s incredulous gaze was the first to meet yours as you and Peter walked hand in hand to where you had all agreed to eat that day, which was outside since Rocket had been exiled from the hotel. The rest of the team—minus Drax— had already started eating, and plowed through more than 3/4ths of the buffet table, judging by the remains littering the picnic blanket’s surface and the ground nearby. Gamora managed to tear her eyes away from your chest without saying anything for once. Mantis was not so lucky. Looking around to see what Gamora was gaping at, her own gaze fell upon your all-but-exposed breasts and didn’t move even when she tried for a shy, “Good morning.” 

“Good morning,” Peter answered cheerfully—and for him, you supposed it was. _He_ hadn’t wound up taking forty-five minutes to shower because his significant other had kept interrupting. Too annoyed with your boyfriend to communicate with anyone, you shook off his hand and lowered yourself onto the edge of the blanket to admire the view. Both of the planet’s suns shone brightly in the sky. The smell of pool chemicals drifted through the air along with the sound of several different species of children screeching at play. It was the perfect day for pool lounging, if you were allowed to lounge at all. 

“So,” Peter said through a mouthful of some green breakfast mash, “what’s the plan for today?” 

You did not like the sound of this at all. Plans generally did not involve sitting by the pool all day. Rocket and the tallish, lanky Groot, however, perked up immediately, their attention drawn away from the massive bazooka they’d brought outside with them. “I am Groot?” asked the latter. Rocket caught his eye. 

“You got that right, pal,” he said. “There better be _some_ kind of plan today.” 

Peter swallowed thickly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I am Groot.” 

“I thought that was the point of a vacation,” Mantis said. 

“There’s a difference between being relaxed and being bored,” said Gamora as she spread some vegetable-based gunk on a biscuit. “Frankly, I can’t stand another day of sitting around doing nothing while Peter and [Name] are locked up in the room.” 

“Nothing can be very good for the psyche,” Mantis said, finally wrenching her eyes away from your chest when you looked straight at her. “I’ve been able to sense a lot of stress from everyone lately.” 

“Probably because we haven’t killed anyone in over a week,” Rocket piped up. You rolled your eyes, which Rocket saw. Before a fight could break out in earnest, Peter interrupted: 

“That’s a good point, Rocket.” 

You gaped at him. “No, it’s not. We are _not_ murdering someone here just to de-stress Rocket!” Not to mention that murdering anyone would cut into the downtime you had yet to enjoy. 

“I never said anything about murdering anyone _here_. Or even murdering a _someone_.” 

“I am Groot?” asked Groot. 

“Yeah, the emphasis on ‘someone’ _is_ suspicious. You thinking about murdering some beastie somewhere else?” Rocket asked. “Like, off planet? ‘Cause believe you me, I’m not about to be picky. 

“No, it’s on-planet,” Peter said with a shake of his head. “I heard some of the locals talking about it while we were at the bar last night. Apparently it usually doesn’t spend so much time close to the coast. It’s causing problems. A sea monster. Giant jellyfish just offshore.” 

“Venomous and scary?” 

“Probably.” 

“I am Groot?” 

“Most definitely.” 

“Kill streak up to the high heavens?” 

“I didn’t hear them say a number, but—” 

“I’m in.” Rocket sat back with his tiny arms folded across his chest as though that put an end to the matter. 

“Do you even know what jellyfish is?” you asked. Gamora, however had other things on her mind: 

“Why didn’t you mention this before?” 

“[Name] told me not to!” Peter said. As expected, this news caused an uproar of protest at your behavior. Groot might have even come close to speaking a swear word you could understand. Scowling, you waited for the noise to die down before attempting to explain. 

“It’s not a _job_ ,” you said, throwing a dirty look in Peter’s direction. “In fact, if any of you had bothered to do any research before we stopped here, you’d know that giant jellyfish is considered a deity. No matter how close it gets, no one wants it dead. If anything, _we’d_ have to pay _them_ to do anything about it.” 

“I am Groot!” 

“I’d pay ‘em, too! If I don’t get something to entertain myself, I’m likely to start causing trouble. Or maybe if Miss Snootypants over here has a problem with real entertainment, _she_ can start paying _me_ not to murder _her._ ” 

“Don’t hold your breath.” Your eyes narrowed in Peter’s direction. _He_ was the one in charge of this lot, not you. All he seemed inclined to do was get them riled up. It took so little to rile up Groot these days, too. Much more of this and he was likely to start whipping someone around with his hands. Seeing as you were Groot’s favorite target for that sort of behavior, you rather hoped your _boyfriend_ might start taking matters into his own hands. 

Luckily, Peter got the message—or so you thought. He made a show of finishing what was left on his plate, but then all he said was, “So?” 

“So…what?” Gamora asked. Mantis nodded vigorously by her side. 

“So are we doing it or not?” Peter asked. 

“Sounds fine to me,” Gamora’s eyes flicked once in your direction, “although you might want to check what your girlfriend is wearing.” 

You looked down at the bikini top that covered your so called “naughty bits,” then glared back at her. “What’s wrong with my outfit?” 

“It’s not an ‘outfit.’” 

“I am _wearing_ a bikini.” 

“To breakfast?” she asked coldly. It couldn’t be more clear that while Mantis might enjoy your cleavage, Gamora thought it ought to be covered whenever possible. You tossed your hair. 

“I’m wearing shorts, too.” 

“I’d hardly call those shorts.” 

“I’m covered enough that only you and Mantis have gawked at me,” you snarled, though you felt somewhat guilty over turning Mantis that particular shade of cherry. She’d been mostly alone for so long that she couldn’t _help_ but be a bundle of nerves and social failure. You weren’t even being honest about the gawking either. Gamora rolled _her_ eyes this time. 

“Fine. If you want to fight a giant jelly beast in nothing but a flimsy bra and some panties, be my guest. Maybe you’ll get an arm bit off. You can’t fight _and_ look like a stripper at the same time.” 

This, you felt, was going a little far. Your clothing was skimpy, but you weren’t going anywhere but the pool after breakfast (unless Peter had his way for a third day in row). Just because Gamora always felt the need to be battle-ready didn’t mean the rest of you shared her deep-seated paranoia. Besides, it wasn’t like looking like a stripper was a _bad_ thing. It just meant you had a harder time keeping Peter’s hands where you could see them. 

By then, you and Gamora were inches from each other’s faces. Mantis’ dark eyes darted worriedly between you both. Groot and Rocket whispered to each other—taking bets on which one of you would be first to render the other unconscious, you’d hazard a guess. Peter only looked delighted, his breakfast entirely forgotten in the light of a possible catfight between his girlfriend and a girl he’d once _hoped_ to be his girlfriend. As though you were about to give any of them the satisfaction. You took a deep breath and settled back onto the ground as you snatched a piece of fruit from one of the nearby plates. 

“ _I_ can do both,” you said primly. 

“Not _well_ ,” Gamora muttered. 

“It doesn’t matter if I’m not dressed for battle. We aren’t going into battle.” 

“What? Why not?” Rocket cried. 

“Because no one is offering to pay us! You think that concierge is going to _thank_ you for killing something he regularly sacrifices to?" 

“I am Groot!” Groot interjected. 

“Right,” said Rocket. “ _What_ concierge? Ain’t no concierge gonna get _me_ to respect his idiotic religion. Not after he got a bunch of bellboys chasing me away from the buffet table when I’m _far_ from the hairiest person here!” 

Sadly, this was true. After living with Rocket the past few months, you had a good idea of just how hairy he was. You did feel that he was missing the point, though. 

“Exactly. So who cares if the thing _is_ causing problems? There’s no point helping someone like that. Besides, the poor thing isn’t hurting anyone. It’s just hanging out at the beach.” 

“It ripped a swimmer’s head off!” Peter said incredulously. You threw down the remains of your fruit and looked him dead in the eye. 

“So it’s a _malevolent_ deity. What, they don’t have those where you come from?” 

“That’s not what I—” 

“We’re already broke after we had to pay for all the repairs for the ship. Repairs, which, may I remind you, aren’t even finished?” 

“But still—” 

“Do you really want to spend your vacation doing work for free?” 

“Who died and made you Queen of the Guardians?” Rocket demanded. Peter continued to look at you for a few seconds longer, then sighed. 

“Forget it, guys.” 

“ _What_?” 

“I am Groot!” 

“Yeah, you’re right, Groot. She _did_ steal Quill’s balls.” 

“Hey, that’s not fair. I have very plentiful balls.” 

“Prove it!” 

Peter stood up, hands already moving to yank down his pants. You pulled him back onto the ground. “We aren’t fighting anything today,” you told Rocket. “End of story.” 

“Excuse me, Princess.” 

“You are excused.” Now that that was settled, you could hear the pool calling your name. You needed a tan that would last until your next break before the end of the week. With the crisis of possible god-killing averted for now, sunbathing was next on the agenda. No word of goodbye left your lips as you stood to leave. Rocket was not far after. 

“Well, if you lot are going to sit around trying to get a head start on decomposing, Groot and I got business matters of a serious nature to attend to,” he called as he scurried toward the hotel entrance. 

Peter perked up considerably. “Business?” 

Rocket waved him away with a laugh. “Not your kinda business, choirboy. Now, run along after sweetums before she steals something more crucial than your dick.” 

“Rocket!” 

But Rocket and Groot were gone, leaving Peter at the picnic blanket with Gamora and Mantis. He looked imploring at you. You looked away. Why couldn’t he just the goddamn hint? Vacations were for doing nothing—not doing your boyfriend and certainly not doing _work._

“So where’s Drax, anyway?” Peter asked when no new subject was put up by those remaining. 

“Sleeping,” Mantis answered promptly. “He discovered the bar last night, and—” 

“Say no more.” Peter winced. “Guess we better go check on the guy.” 

“Since [Name] is so insistent that she stay away from this creature, perhaps _she_ should go try to wake Drax up,” Gamora suggested. Your eyebrows rose. “The three of us can go scope out this…jamfish.” 

“Jellyfish,” you said, “and we already decided not to kill it.” 

“Looking is not the same as killing.” 

“That’s a fine idea,” you said, your tone icy, "but seeing as Peter is _my_ boyfriend, and not _yours_ , I think _he_ should come with _me_ to check on Drax.” 

Gamora rolled her eyes once more at this childish behavior. You felt a vague pang of guilt. She had always made it clear that she had no romantic attraction toward Peter herself. What was harder to forget was your boyfriend’s penchant for green-skinned space babes, especially when you were going to refuse to sleep with him and Gamora was as gorgeous as ever. Before you could even begin in the general direction of an apology, she got up from her seat and brushed past you. 

“ _I’ll_ go make sure he isn’t suffocating in his own vomit. Heavens know I do it often enough for _you_ , Peter.” 

“Hey, [Name] takes care of my vomit now.” 

“At least we all have that going for us. Come on, Mantis.” 

Mantis pursed her lips, looked nervously between you, Gamora, and Peter, and stood up to hurry after Gamora’s rapidly retreating back. Well, that had worked better than you had planned it. Time with Peter _and_ no need to get a second look at Drax’s unusual throw up. You were magnanimous enough to wait for Peter to catch up with you before moving on, but his trying to take your hand resulted in you shaking him off. 

“You’re mad at me,” he said. 

“Finally caught on, have you?” 

“For what?” 

If he hadn’t figured out that you wanted some quiet time without worrying that he was going to shack up with the first female-presenting being he spotted, you weren’t going to tell him. Not a word on the matter left your lips. After several seconds of silent walking, he tried again: 

“You know, you don’t have to make me look like a…” he cut himself off. Marching past the front desk (an act that earned you a suspicious look from the man at the counter, who no doubt thought you were trying to smuggle Rocket into the building by hiding him where the sun don’t shine), you lifted an eyebrow at Peter inquisitively. 

“Like a _what_?” you asked, though you knew wouldn’t like the answer. Peter sighed. 

“Like a…a pussy.” 

This drew you to a complete stop. He nearly trod on your sandaled feet, not that either of you noticed. 

“What’s wrong with having a pussy? I thought you _liked_ mine.” 

“I do! I just don’t want to _be_ one.” 

“Me suggesting you _not_ give into Rocket’s insane demands makes you a pussy?” 

“No! But not letting the rest of the guys do what they want—” 

You interrupted him with a groan and a tossing upward of your hands. “I’m so _sorry_ that I don’t want us to kill something important and get run off our eighth planet to date. Those Sovereign are still after us, but sure. Let’s go back into space before the _Milano_ is ready so we can get blasted into nothingness by a bunch of gold-skinned children!” 

Peter only stared at you. Faint color born of anger rose into your cheeks. Not only was Peter acting like you were wrong to tell them to leave the jellyfish alone, but you were actively driving him away from the _one_ moment you had with him alone and he wasn't trying to remove your top. Suddenly your throat felt very right. Thank the (non-jellyfish) Gods Gamora wasn’t here to see and Peter had the emotional reading abilities of a hat. 

“If you didn’t agree with me, you shouldn’t have pretended you did,” you said somewhat hoarsely. 

“It’s not that I don’t agree with you,” Peter said. “It’s just the way you went about it made me look kinda…dickless.” 

“Everyone knows you’ve got a dick, Peter. You’re not exactly shy about reminding us.” 

Unwilling to discuss this any further, you spun around to stalk to the pool. Peter could go off and kill as many deities as he wanted. At the absolute least, this would keep him away from your sunning time for a few hours. With Drax unconscious, killing anything would take at least that long. Huffing and muttering to yourself under your breath, you found a pool chair outside only a few feet away from the crystalline water. The last thing you expected to find when you finished applying suntan lotion and settled in on your back was Peter perched on the empty chair beside yours. 

“What?” you asked. 

“Can’t a guy hang out with his girlfriend without her asking him ‘what’?” 

You eyed him suspiciously. Peter was dressed in his usual duds: heavy Ravager coat, funky t-shirt, thick-toed boots. _He_ expected to be going after a jellyfish at some point today at any rate. Certainly he wasn’t dressed to spend the entire day by the pool. 

“You really plan to just hang out here with me all day?” 

“Well, maybe not _all_ day. Once you spent some time outside, I was hoping—” 

“I’ve spent the past three days cooped up inside with you. Today is a ‘me’ day. No monsters. No slime. No sex.” 

“Okay,” he said, oblivious to your eyes sliding shut in your attempt to ignore him, “I know you said no monsters, but I really think it would be best for the rest of the team if we took care of that thing out there. It’d calm everyone down. _And_ everyone at the hotel would be a lot safer.” 

You snuggled exaggeratedly into your sunbeam. “It can’t hurt us here. Unless you’re suggesting it’s going to grow legs and _walk_ to the pool.” 

“It could!” 

“Peter, sweetheart?” you asked as you lifted your sunglasses off your nose. 

“Yeah?” 

You sat up to give his cheek a lazy pat. “If you bring up this job of yours _one_ more time, I am going to murder you.” 

“No, you wouldn’t.” 

Peter didn’t look altogether certain about that, though. Probably had something to do with the time you’d broken his jaw during a rough night of sex. If you’d done that on accident, who knew what you could do _on purpose_? Smiling with satisfaction, you turned over to let the dual suns above warm your back. “Maybe not. But I _will_ refuse to screw you for a couple of weeks, so you’d better think real hard about little Peter before you say anything else.” 

He didn't. “I don’t see why we can’t spend an hour doing that. It’ll hardly cut into your tanning time at all.” 

“If it’s so important to you, why don’t you go on with me?” 

“Oh, come on. It wouldn’t be the same without you.” By this, Peter meant a fight just wouldn’t be as much fun if he couldn’t expect some clothing damage on your part that left you half naked at the end. Apparently your bikini wasn’t cutting it. 

“The answer is no. And the answer to sleeping with you today is no. We came on vacation to relax.” 

“Sex is relaxing!” 

“Maybe for _you_.” 

“Guess Rocket is right about you stealing my dick,” he muttered. Unfortunately for him, you heard, and you could stand it no longer. Between Rocket and Groot’s antics (and general banning by the hotel staff), Gamora’s snide remarks, and Drax getting drunk enough to almost drown once a day, this vacation was turning out to be no fun at all. Peter refusing to let you spend _one_ day without physical activity was only the icing on the proverbial cake. 

“If you want to go play with your friends, fine,” you snapped. “I don’t care. Just leave me in peace. _I_ can stay here when you lot are chased off, and _you_ can prove to the rest of them that you’re the one that wears the pants in this relationship.” 

Normally, this would cause Peter to say something humorous about preferring that neither of you wear pants. But Peter didn't. You'd crossed some invisible line, and now he simply watched you, his jaw slowly setting in that way of his that always showed that he was angry. You didn’t back down. A moment later, Peter stood from his pool chair with a faint, “fine,” then strode back inside, muttering something about “big and plentiful balls” all the while. 

Your teeth found your lower lip; your intestines did a jig. If you valued your relationship, you would go after him and apologize. It wasn’t _his_ fault things had gone so badly. Who cared about your tan or how often you had sex when— 

“Cannonball!” 

An enormous splash surged up from the water. Right before the waved crashed into you, you spotted the tell-tale gray and red skin that belonged to none other than Drax. Apparently he had _not_ suffocated as Gamora had feared. You spat out a mouthful of pool water just in time to see his head surface, his usual manic grin in place. 

“Mantis!” he called. “Come in! If you are underwater, no one will see how hideous you look in your bathing suit.” 

Oh, Gods. He had brought a friend. Mantis appeared in your field of vision. She had changed into pool wear, and, despite what Drax claimed, looked as annoyingly adorable as usual in a sparkly green one piece. She hesitated at the edge of the pool, but this did not cause Drax pause. He swam closer to grab her ankle. 

“Quick, before you cause someone to go blind.” 

Mantis tried to protest. You heard the beginnings of _a_ word at least, before Drax gave her leg a massive pull so that she toppled, screaming, into the water. Lucky for her, the water was deep and Drax’s stunt didn’t snap her neck. Unlucky for you, the resulting splash doused you a second time. 

“Drax!” you shouted over the sound of his wild laughter. 

“What?” 

Oh, so he knew you were there, did he? You frowned. “Can you not play quite so rough?” 

“What is the matter with the nature of my playing? You are the one who insists vacation are all play and no work.” 

“You’re making a mess,” you snapped, wishing you hadn’t gone to the trouble of putting on makeup that morning. Waterproof or not, it was surely smeared all over your face by then. “Besides, there are _children_ around. You and Mantis could really hurt someone.” 

Drax regarded you for a minute or so, treading water as he did. Then he announced, “Rocket is right about you. You are an enormous piece of soggy bedclothes.” 

“It’s ‘wet blanket,’” you snarled. 

“Why on Terra would you be a blanket?” Before you could even attempt to explain, he turned to someone else. “Gamora! Though your appearance is not likely to cause widespread panic in this place, you are free to join us.” 

“I don’t swim,” came Gamora’s voice from beside you. You started, and twisted around to find her next to the chair Peter had vacated. As usual, she was glaring at you. 

“Suit yourself,” said Drax. “Come, Mantis. Let us see if you can play fetch.” 

“Play fetch?” 

“It is a thing pets do, I’m told.” 

“Oh! Then I must be very good at it already!” 

“I doubt it.” 

Their voices faded away, presumably as they swam through water and children to a more distant corner of the pool. Not wanting a dagger in your back, you didn’t take your eyes off Gamora to check. So long as those two were away from you, you didn’t really care where else they went. 

“Where’s Peter?” Gamora asked once you were alone. 

“No idea,” you answered. 

“He came here with you.” 

“And he left here without me. Why do _you_ want to know?” 

This time, Gamora didn’t even bother to roll her eyes. “If he’s gone, what are you still doing here?” 

“Tanning. Trying to, anyway.” 

“Don’t you and Peter usually hole up in the room and mate?” 

“I have better things to do today.” One thing Gamora didn’t need to know was that you and Peter might be having a fight. He was an attractive man, after all. Who knew when she could change her mind about dating him and snap him up when you weren’t looking? 

“I suppose sitting around is that better thing?” She didn’t wait for you to answer. “I should be grateful. Perhaps he’ll actually get something productive done.” 

“He gets plenty of productive things done.” 

“Not since he started dating you.” 

“Hey—” 

“I do not care about what sex you do or do not do with Peter,” she cut in. “Do you really plan to sit here all day?” 

“Yes.” 

“I don’t know what he sees in you.” 

“Neither do I.” 

Gamora’s tense body unwound slowly as she shook her head. “We’re still stuck here for the next couple of days. Maybe there’s somewhere I can practice with my sword.” She turned to leave. 

“Wait!” She did. _Then_ it occurred to you that you were too proud to beg her to stay just to keep you company. Gamora wasn’t even _good_ company most of the time. “Lend me some credits for the bar? I left mine in the room.” 

“Go back to the room and get some.” 

“I can’t. I left my room key, too,” you lied. “My shorts aren’t really big enough for pockets.” 

Gamora lifted her eyes to the sky. This was leading up to an “I told you so,” you just knew it. But instead of saying as much (even though she had), Gamora said, “If you are upset with Peter, you should _talk_ to him. Don’t avoid him or play games that make you look like an idiot.” 

She walked away, leaving you feeling half-annoyed, half-dejected. Though you’d made up the bit about wanting a drink on the spot, now getting drunk didn’t sound too bad. Doing so might even make this disaster of a vacation more appealing. To do that, you really did need credits. A peach Bellini slush (or ten) would be worth encountering Peter—though doing so risked you getting holed up in that room, just as Gamora had said. Reluctant to leave your prime spot by the pool, you rose to your feet and sluggishly gathered your few possessions. As you pulled your shorts back on, you heard a familiar voice shout, “Look out!” 

A sharp pain struck you square in the back of your head. Stars popped in front of your eyes. Your knees buckled. You were out before you hit the cement. 

It wasn’t long after that that you felt a hard throbbing bring you back to reality. The suns had barely had time to scorch your shoulder blades. Sweat stuck to your back and…your hand? 

“She’s waking up,” Mantis whispered. You ripped your hand out of hers to sit up with a groan, rubbing the new knot on your skull. Through the fireworks still flashing before you, you could see the blurred outline of Mantis and Drax against the sky. 

“Are you all right?” Drax asked. 

“No, I’m not _all right_!” you shouted, so loudly that Mantis jumped backward. “You guys could have killed me!” 

“It is not _our_ fault your head is so soft.” 

“You shouldn’t be throwing around—what is this?” You cast about through the wreckage of your fall until you found a hard lump hidden in your towel. Digging it out revealed a—“grenades! You shouldn’t be throwing Rocket’s grenades around a public place! Or any place we aren’t trying to blow something up!” 

“It’s perfectly safe. We did not pull the pin.” 

“I don’t _care_. You two are going to make someone dead.” 

Mantis gasped. Drax glanced at her. 

“This would not happen if you were not so abysmal at fetch,” he told her. 

“I’m sorry,” she said tearfully. Drax placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“You only need more practice. Perhaps one day you will be slightly less abysmal.” 

Though this news appeared to perk Mantis up, you weren’t about to have them continue playing fetch with explosives on your watch. “I don’t care how much practice either of you needs. You aren’t playing with this anymore.” You set the grenade gingerly aside. “ _And_ you’re leaving the pool.” 

“Says who?” Drax asked. 

“Says me.” 

“For what reason?” 

“Because if you don’t, I’m going to find someone to throw you out.” 

To your surprise, Drax didn’t argue. With a careless shrug, he straightened. “Fine. We will go elsewhere. Somewhere where there are fewer trees going straight in the mud.” 

“It’s ‘stick in the mud!’” you hurled after him. Mantis threw you one last miserable look before she followed Drax back into the hotel. 

Groaning, you sank back onto your chair. What a day this was turning out to be. You’d driven away the only member of your team that liked you, chased Peter off with your bitchy attitude, and got Gamora and Drax to leave simply because they found you too _boring_ to tolerate. At least now you had the pool to yourself…several dozen children and their families notwithstanding. This tan had better be spectacular. 

Your recent head injury made the journey to the room to hash things out with your boyfriend less appealing than ever. You’d hate to pass out mid-screaming match. Once you’d made sure Rocket’s grenade was carefully stowed underneath a towel under your chair, you settled back in, stomach pressed into the chair. Maybe _now_ you could finally get some rest and relaxation on this vacation. 

Soon, it was only you and the rest of the well-behaved hotel guests for you to concern yourself with. Children continued to shriek and laugh in the shallows on the opposite end of the pool. Their parents spoke quietly to one another in voices you didn’t bother to pick out from the crowd. Ice in glasses clinked; bottles hissed as they were cracked open. Your muscles finally started to unwind beneath the searing heat of the planet’s suns. _This_ was a proper vacation. You could have fallen asleep right there and then. You _would_ have fallen asleep right there and then, had your ears not picked up on the faint scratching of tiny nails against the ground. 

Your loosened muscles tensed up once more. Not here. Not now. It took considerable will-power to force air in regular intervals in and out of your lungs. Not once did you open your eyes. You were picking up on Gamora’s paranoia, that was all. Rocket was not the only small mammalian creature in the region. That noise might have come from anyone or anything. Besides, either way, Rocket’s behavior was _not_ your responsibility. He was a full-grown raccoon. It was about time he started looking after himself. 

The scrabbling noise disappeared into the distance, allowing your breathing to lengthen and slow naturally. You had worried for nothing—or so you thought, until an enormous tumult of explosions, screams, and shattering glasses came from the direction of the pool bar. You stifled a moan into the mesh beneath your face. 

_‘Please don’t come over here. I had nothing to do with it. Leave me alone,’_ you thought desperately. Yes, the hotel staff had seen you in Rocket’s company before he’d been thrown out, but that didn’t mean you were _with_ him. Judging by the shouting and rattling, the hotel staff had the situation handled just fine without your help. No need for you to get up and bother with it. If you acted like you didn't know Rocket, maybe no one would suspect that you did. 

Someone behind you cleared their throat. 

With a sinking heart, you rolled over. Looming above you stood the grimacing hotel manager. He held a squirming and swearing Rocket up by the scruff of his neck. Just beyond them, two other men in hotel security uniforms had Groot handcuffed. You did your best to appear bewildered by this all too common scene. 

“Yes?” you asked. The manager’s stormy features did not budge. 

“This… _thing_ ,” he thrust Rocket at you, “has completely _destroyed_ our outdoor bar.” 

You squinted at the raccoon in question, then widened your eyes innocently at the man holding him. “That’s a real shame. I had my heart set on getting a peach Bellini later.” 

“It _says_ it was an accident.” 

Accident your shapely ass. Why couldn’t this guy just get to the point already? He acted like he didn’t have a _real_ job to get to. Rocket shouldn’t have resorted to blowing the bar up, but he had just as much right to be there as any other guest, even if he did look like a rodent on steroids. 

“It _was_ an accident,” Rocket protested. “[Name], come on. You gonna let this moron manhandle me like this?” 

The manager did not so much as look at Rocket while he spoke, nor did he acknowledge Rocket’s speaking at all. “It also says it knows you. Of course, if we cannot find the vermin’s caretakers—” 

“I am _not_ vermin!” 

“I am Groot!” Groot added. No one acknowledged him either. 

“—he _and_ his friend here will have to be taken to a more secure facility. Someone must pay for damages, and I doubt this… _creature_ has the necessary credits.” 

Rocket bared his teeth at you in what he clearly believed to be a winning smile. You did not return the gesture. That rat! He and Groot must have spent all _their_ ill-gotten Sovereign gains on grenades and bazookas. Now they thought you were going to bail them out? Fat chance. 

“I’ve never seen this thing before I came to this facility,” you said coldly. “When I met it, I thought your staff was already getting rid of its kind.” 

“Its kind?!” Rocket cried just as Groot said, “I am Groot!” 

The hotel manager continued to watch you a moment longer. Whether he knew you were lying or not, he apparently didn’t want to prolong the argument (or get rid of a paying customer who _wasn’t_ breaking everything in sight), because he turned with a faint, “very well,” before marching off with Rocket kicking and shouting in his grip. 

“You bitch! You stonehearted bitch! I’ll get you for this!” 

Groot threw you a very dirty look as his captors dragged him off, too. “I am Groot,” he said seriously. 

“Don’t tell her what we’re going to do!” Rocket said. “Her expecting it is the opposite of what we want! Jeez, you were smarter when you were a baby!” 

You waved goodbye. Whatever happened to those two, there was no doubt in your mind they’d be back to enact their vengeance shortly. There wasn’t a prison yet built that could keep Rocket in, and with Groot’s bad temper these days, the security team might not get far enough to throw either of them in prison to begin with. 

On second thought, peering through the glass doors through which they’d disappeared, you wondered if you ought to run after. Someone should probably warn the people of this planet of Groot’s temper. 

Nah. Served them right for treating Rocket like an animal. If anyone was team pet, it was Mantis, and you didn’t see anyone attempting to remove _her_ from the premises. Rocket getting in a real fight might calm him down, too, without the need to kill any local water gods. Win-win. 

Your conscience cleared, you got back to work on tanning your stomach and chest. Best to take advantage of this quiet time while it lasted. Peter wasn’t talking to you; Gamora hated your guts on a _good_ day; Drax and Mantis were causing trouble out of sight; and Rocket and Groot were out of your hair for once. It looked as though you’d be headed home by yourself after this vacation. The very least you could do was look good when you got there. The rest of the women in prison might be intimidated by your gorgeous appearance long enough to leave you the hell alone. 

The heat of the day dulled to just below sweltering, the suns inching down in tandem toward the horizon. You shifted only as long as it took to apply a fresh coat of tanning lotion. The more time that passed, the more you relaxed. It seemed that your “friends” had finally got the point. Rocket’s mess had even spooked off most of the families with which you’d had to share the pool earlier in the day. 

You should have known. You should have _known_ they weren’t playing quietly out of sight and well away from each other. If you _had_ known, you would have expected the echoes of gunshots and screams drifting from the beach. You didn’t, though, and it took several seconds of cacophony worming its way into your aching, sun-warmed skull before you noticed it. Your eyes popped open. They _weren’t_.” 

They were. No sooner had you sat bolt upright than did some _worse_ noise fill the air: a strange, watery shriek that grew louder and louder. You stood. A monstrous jellyfish the size of the _Milano_ itself sailed over the hotel roof to land with a resounding _crash_ in the water. The resulting tidal wave swelled up so large and powerful that you couldn’t react before it caught you up and slammed you against a wall. Your head injury from before throbbed all the more. 

A few seconds of listening to panicked pool goers screech passed before you could catch your breath. So rattled were you that you could only stumble across the cracked, wet cement in the general direction of the being that had caused all this destruction. When you found Peter—or any other member of these so-called “Guardians of Everything But Decent Vacations”—you were going to rend them limb from limb. 

What malevolent deity from _your_ home planet you’d angered, you didn’t know, but they had repaid you in absolute chaos. Forget Rocket blowing up the bar. Through the spinning world around you, you caught brief glimpses of crying children, broken bricks, and failing tentacles. Whichever of your friends had done this (if they _all_ hadn’t been involved), they had managed what they’d been threatening to do ever since the busted ship had landed: ruined your vacation. 

Just as you thought this, one of those flailing tentacles landed on your shoulder. Pain seared through the skin there as the venomous limb groped lower. 

No, you realized, your friends weren’t ruining your vacation. This thing was. 

You saw red. Unthinking, you wrapped both hands around the tentacle and ripped it from your chest. The jellyfish made a sound like a scream, trying to retract itself from your burning palms. If it hadn’t felt good on your breast, it certainly didn’t feel good on your hands. But you weren’t about to let go. Ruin your downtime, would it? “I,” you heaved its gelatinous body forward, “don’t,” it whimpered as it scraped against the edge of the now-empty pool, “think,” why was a jellyfish so damned heavy?, “so!” 

With a final burst of effort, you yanked it free of the pool. It sailed upward; you gave the tentacle in your grip a tremendous tug. For something with no visible mouth, that beast sure made a lot of noise when you ripped out its writhing limb. It didn’t have long to make noise, though. Once it got within arm’s length, you threw your entire body at it fist first. Your knuckles met thin, gooey skin for half a second then— 

—the entire creature burst. Jellyfish goo and venomous arms flew from where you’d made contact. Closing your eyes did nothing to prevent you getting a faceful of guts. Again you found yourself spitting out liquid, but this time it was thick and sour and made your tongue spark. By the time you’d opened your eyes, the remaining onlookers had fallen silent. They, just like you and your surroundings, were covered in jellyfish innards. Only then did you remember the natives here believed what you’d just blown up was a god, regardless of how much it might have pissed you off. 

“Oops?” you said into the ringing silence. Not a single one laughed. 

Time to skedaddle. Without bothering to go back for Rocket’s grenade, you walked backward to the doors into the still _mostly_ intact hotel. Your back did not meet glass, but a warm body. 

“Miss.” 

You whirled to face the concierge. Whatever he opened his mouth to say, you never found out. A rush of footsteps filled the air, followed by a familiar roar, and then two strong arms lifted you into the air. 

“That,” warm lips on your forehead, “was,” warm lips on your lips, “amazing!” 

Peter finally backed off enough that you could see his face. You wanted to say something, but there wasn’t any time. He had you back on your feet and his tongue back in your mouth in a matter of milliseconds. Knowing the concierge remained nearby didn’t exactly have you in a hurry to get Peter to stop. In fact, you were almost disappointed when he broke away to breathe. 

“What did I say about killing local gods?” you asked, if only to see him flush. 

“I know, but—well, it was worth it. I’m sorry if I ruined your vacation, but that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you—” 

You interrupted by hitching your finger through the collar of his shirt. “I just want _two_ things,” you answered. “A peach Bellini slush and for _you_ to get out of my face.” 

Crestfallen, Peter attempted to take a step away. You pulled him back. 

“Not you. _You_ ,” you twisted your head toward the google-eyed concierge, “can run along and _get_ me that slush, or your establishment will be dealing with a lot more than collateral damage from guests having to rescue other guests.” 

He did not hesitate to scuttle off. 

“On second thought,” said Peter, “ _that_ might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. You should work topless more often.” 

You looked down. That damn jellyfish hadn’t just groped you! It had torn off your top! A sound of incoherent rage escaped your mouth, but you dropped your hand to grab Peter’s to tug him after you down the hall. 

“Am I in trouble?” 

“Only if you don’t help me relieve some of this tension I’ve got going on.” 

“We’re gonna have sex? That’s not normally the sound you make when we’re gonna have sex.” 

“It is this time,” you answered, tossing him onto the nearest couch. Peter’s hands immediately found your hips after you positioned yourself on top of him. Something, however, seemed to be bothering him: 

“But what about your drink?” 

“You can buy me one later, at the next place we stop. It’ll take him a few minutes to get a real security force back here.” You kissed him slowly, slipping your hand under his shirt to scrape your fingernails up his bare chest. “You’ve got until then to make me forget that lounging at the pool was the worst idea I’ve ever had.” 

Peter, being Peter, was more than happy to oblige. You couldn’t even work up a real tantrum as you and the rest of the team sailed away in the cheapest shuttle you could find. Apparently rest and relaxation was easier to come by doing your job than it was taking a break from that job. 

Your only regret was that, in the end, you never did get that peach Bellini slush. 

* * *


End file.
